


fair market value

by lazulisong



Series: It was late, and Meg was very tired [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), xxxHoLic
Genre: Gen, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, i blame everybody, request fic, things I will regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1859763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazulisong/pseuds/lazulisong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"you must have a wish," says the lady.</p><p>"i ain't got money," says bucky, still frozen in place. "i was just --"</p>
            </blockquote>





	fair market value

**Author's Note:**

  * For [regonym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regonym/gifts).



> actually no since regonym was the one who wanted hedgehog-bucky and starlitsea then made a comment on that that made me think of what would happen if bucky and yuuko met, this is ONE HUNDRED AND TEN PERCENT REGONYM'S FAULT FOR FOREVER. i'm gonna take the train to beaverland and murderate you in person, be prepared.
> 
> tumblr fic. please scuse lack of capitals, i got three hundred words in and had a horrible epiphany about the length it was going to be and i couldn't face recapitalizing every single sentence.
> 
> now available in chinese! <http://berlin9.lofter.com/post/1b9fc7_2763028>

so there's actually more than one time that bucky meets that lady. the first time he's about ten years old and he got kicked out of the rogers' apartment because steve has something more contagious than usual and mrs rogers don't want to explain to his ma about how bucky got the mumps too. steve's real sick this time, real awful sick, and bucky's finally old enough to understand that if steve stays so real awful sick he might die.

bucky doesn't know what he'd do if steve died. he thinks he might die himself.

he's trying to find himself a place to cry without being seen. he's too big to cry but he's got a lump in his throat and his stomach feels all funny and tight. he slips into an alley and stumbles over something, cause he's not looking where he's going very well, and the next thing he knows the air is warm like summer and smells like a chinese store. the scent is sneezy and thickly sweet.

when he looks up he's not in the alley. he's in a room with filled with soft-looking cushions and wall hangings like he and steve had seen at the museum once, and a chaise with a lady half-sitting, half lying on it, her long black hair almost sweeping against the ground. she's wearing a red silk dress and has two little girls curled up at her feet. she's smoking, too, a long thin pipe like the ones people in chinatown smoke.

bucky looks back toward the alley but all he sees is a carved black door with dragons on it. he's too scared to do anything but stare at the lady uneasily. "you must have a wish," says the lady.

"i ain't got money," says bucky, still frozen in place. "i was just --"

the lady takes another puff from her pipe and taps the ash from it into a big china jar. "i don't take money, child," she says curtly, but not unkindly. "come here." she reaches out to him with one long thin hand and he steps forward to take it without quite meaning to. her nails are painted a deep red. "i will grant you your wish," she says, pulling him down to kneel beside her.

bucky takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. the next thing he knows, he's sobbing into her dress, ugly, babyish tears. he doesn't know how long he cries, maybe forever, but when he looks up again the lady wipes his face with a cool scented handkerchief and pulls him up again. he looks down at her dress and sees that his tears have turned into diamonds that one of the little girls is carefully brushing off the lady's dress into a white container.

he blinks, and he's in the cold brooklyn alley again, and he wonders if he just imagined it all, but he's holding the handkerchief in his hand still.

he goes home.

steve lives.

bucky doesn't forget the lady.

\----

the next time he sees her he's leaving for europe with a stolen handkerchief of steve's in his pocket. steve's gonna die without him. he knows it. steve's gonna die without him and becca will write him about it and he won't get the letter for months and months, and then bucky will lay him down on a landmine and die. the thought of it is bitter in his mouth.

he closes his eyes while the ship chugs out of the harbor, and when he opens them again, the lady is beside him, leaning gracefully on the railing. she smells the same as that dim-distant day when he cried over steve rogers dying. she doesn't seem to have aged a minute, but instead of the red dress she is wearing black slacks and a long loose shirt and a black scarf embroidered with butterflies in silver and red that hang down from her shoulders nearly to her knees. her hair is pinned up under a beret with a butterfly pin on the side of it. "he never did like new york," she says, watching the statue of liberty. 

bucky doesn't ask her how she got on a transport ship heading out of new york and how she intends to get herself back off again. he notices, though, that it's clear that nobody except him is aware of her presence. "who?" he says.

she slants an amused look at him. "not your him. an idiot i knew." she turns around and braces her back against the railing. "you are a person of strong desires, sergeant."

bucky shakes his head. "i've only ever wished for one thing," he says, his voice rough. 

"i know," she says, her mouth twisting up. "well? what is your wish?"

bucky hesitates but there's something in the way that she looks at him that makes him think that it would be alright to speak it out loud. "i want steve to be safe and healthy and happy. and i want to be with him." 

she hums a little. "a tall order, don't you think?"

he shrugs. it's impossible, he knows, but he'd give anything for it. he doesn't care if he gets blown to bits in germany or france and gets sent home minus a leg, just as long as steve is safe and healthy and happy.

"very well," she says. her voice is suddenly very kind and gentle. "i will grant your wish, if you pay the price."

she doesn't say anything else but he knows, somehow what she's talking about. it hurts him, badly, but he reaches into his pocket and hands her the handkerchief. he imagined all night that it still smelled a little of steve, and it's an effort to drop it into her hand. "this isn't the only thing i have to pay, is it?" he says, certain of it. 

"no," says the lady. her eyes are terrible and sorrowful. 

"it's fine," he says. "it's fine."

 

\--- 

the winter soldier walks out of the smithsonian with something angry buzzing in his head. he doesn't understand. he doesn't understand. how could that be him. how could that happen to him. what happened to that boy looking at the man on the bridge with that look in his eyes? why did the man on the bridge look back at him like that? he doesn't --

there's a woman with long black hair. she's wearing a jacket painted over with butterflies and red heels. she's smoking a cigarette and ignoring a boy who is trying to hiss into her ear. 

the winter soldier stares at her. he -- remembers her? is that what this sensation is? it's not like the man on the bridge. he'd known him, like the click of a bullet slotting into the chamber. his knowledge of the man on the bridge was written deep into his body, deeper than thought or instinct. but he remembers her, a red silk dress, and a scarf with butterflies and a price --

"did i pay enough?" he says, his voice creaky from disuse. 

"yes," she says. she puts a folded handkerchief in his hand, and on top of that she pours diamonds that melt and soak into his skin. "the price has been paid."


End file.
